


Whatever you see and love

by beeawolf



Series: Time of the underdog [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dog BB-8, Finn is important, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Past Torture, Poe Dameron Is A Mess, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but he'll be okay, dogs are important, featuring Snap as the dad friend, pilots are important, really it's a pretty gentle and happy story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeawolf/pseuds/beeawolf
Summary: The dog wasn’t supposed to happen. Really, very little in Poe’s life wassupposedto happen, but the dog, well. That was way out of left field.





	Whatever you see and love

**Author's Note:**

> This is the modern AU I never meant to write, all cascading outward from a couple paragraphs of puppy BB-8.

  
_And at night through the twists of metal_  
_I could see a single star—one, not even two._  
_Its light was a thing of wonder,_  
_and I learned something precious_  
_that would also be good for you._  
  
_Though the worms kept biting and pinching_  
_I fell in love with this star._  
_I stared at it every night—_  
_that light so clear and far._  
  
_Listen, a junkyard puppy_  
_learns quickly how to dream._  
_Listen, whatever you see and love—_  
_that’s where you are._

From “Luke’s Junkyard Song,” by Mary Oliver

 

*

            The dog wasn’t supposed to happen. Really, very little in Poe’s life was _supposed_ to happen, but the dog. That was way out of left field.

            Or more accurately, out of the dumpster behind his apartment. He’d heard the yipping on his way to meet Jess for lunch and half-crawled into the garbage to find him, this tiny orange-and-white fluffball with giant floppy ears who clambered up the trash bags to fling himself at Poe, crying his little lungs out so enthusiastically that Poe thought maybe he’d never stop.

            But he did stop, once Poe had dragged them both from the dumpster, holding the puppy close to his heart with one hand and shaking the garbage juice from the other. The little guy had _fit_ in one hand back then, had been so impossibly small. Looked even smaller in the kitchen sink, drenched and all soaped up and wailing intermittently at Poe about the injustice of getting the garbage juice scrubbed from his fur.

            “I know, I know, I know,” Poe soothed, rinsing the soap away with cupfuls of warm water. “Baths suck, man, I know! The total worst.”

            The puppy listened to him, was the thing, tilted his head and took in everything Poe said like he was thinking real hard about it. Sometimes he made these tiny _roooo_ noises in response, sometimes he just _looked_ at Poe, bright-eyed and curious.

            Poe had called Jess after the bathtime trauma was over, his phone precariously balanced on his shoulder as he struggled to wrap the puppy in a towel far too big for his skinny frame. “Hey, Pava, I’m sorry, can you meet me here instead?”

            “Yeah,” Jess answered immediately. “Bad day?”

            “No, not...not bad, just...I found this dog?”

            “You what?”

            “Yeah, can you – do you know where to get dog food?”

 

            Jess had shown up ten minutes later, letting herself in as usual. She looked at Poe, shirt drenched and soap bubbles still in his hair, then at the wriggling puppy, and grinned. “Dameron,” she said. “Tell me you’re keeping it.”

            “Somebody threw him away,” Poe said, which wasn’t an answer, but he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the concept. “Like, they threw him _away._ ”

            “Motherfuckers,” Jess opined, and Poe nodded vigorously. She held out her hands, and Poe lifted the puppy toward her with a weird reluctance, watching as Jess cuddled the little thing close. “Dude, you _have_ to keep him,” she said, her expression softening as the puppy gnawed enthusiastically at her fingers.

            “I don’t – I don’t have anything he needs,” Poe replied.

            Jess looked up and raised her eyebrows. “So get changed out of that garbage shirt,” she said, “and we’ll go shopping.”

            And so Poe followed Jess around the local pet store with the puppy snugly tucked into his jacket, just below Poe’s collar, the little paws poking out and occasionally flailing at passersby. Jess piled the cart with supplies while Poe eyed the pricetags with growing trepidation.

            “You sure I’m gonna need _all_ of that?” he asked.

            “I’ve had dogs before,” Jess replied breezily, and turned around with a fluorescent orange collar in hand. “This fit him?”

            It did, albeit loosely, but Jess declared that he would grow into it anyway and if he was going to be Poe’s dog he ought to join Poe in blinding everybody with aggressively orange accessories.

            By the time they hit the checkout line, the puppy had attained the collar, tags, a leash, a crate, food and water dishes, four different types of toys, food, treats, and a bed. Jess pushed past Poe when he fumbled for his wallet, swiping her card through before he could.

            “Pava, what the hell,” he protested as they left, and she waved a hand at him.

            “Happy birthday,” she said.

            “My birthday was like three months ago.”

            “Happy _belated_ birthday,” Jess corrected, and Poe just glared. “Look,” she added, “I’m invested in your happiness, okay? And it’s a fucking adorable-ass puppy. And I _wanted_ to. So _let_ me.”

            “Like I could stop you,” Poe sighed, and she just shrugged, because there wasn’t much use arguing with that.

*

            The first night was hard. The puppy yelped and whined and wailed until Poe finally tried rocking him to sleep like an actual baby. And then later _Poe_ had woken up yelping and shaking from a nightmare, and the puppy started up all over again. Poe had to get out of bed and crawl over to the crate, trying to shake off the lingering impressions of the dream, faintly aware of the tears trailing down to wet the collar of his shirt.

            “Damn it, buddy,” Poe said hoarsely, holding the whimpering puppy close, the tiny heartbeat thumping under his fingertips. “Now we’re both crying. How’re we ever gonna make it like that?”

            The puppy licked Poe’s nose in answer, and eventually fell asleep in his lap. Poe only half-dozed after that, sitting up on the floor with his back against the wall, but he didn’t mind. It was more comfortable than being alone in his bed.

            He spent the next day in a sleep-deprived haze, scouring WikiHow’s entire dog-related archive, googling local veterinarians, and fielding demands via text message from Snap and Karé and Iolo for pictures of the puppy. Said puppy had a total of three accidents, which WikiHow said was normal, and merrily chewed the legs of a kitchen chair to bits, which was apparently also normal. Reading over the suggested housetraining schedule, Poe was suddenly intensely grateful for his current lack of stable employment in a way he had not been since...ever. 

            “It says you need a schedule,” he told the puppy as he mopped up the latest mess. “So we’re gonna make you one. The best schedule around. How’s that sound?”

            The puppy paid Poe no mind, as he was extremely busy destroying one of the toys Jess had gotten him. But that was all right. It was still nice to have somebody to talk to.

*

            “Do you have a name?” the veterinary receptionist asked over the phone, and Poe blinked.

            “Poe Dameron,” he repeated.

            “No,” said the receptionist, sounding amused. “A name for the dog?”

            “Oh,” he said. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, he’s...” Poe paused, staring at the puppy, who stared back at him, and then the name came to him so abrupt and certain that he felt stunned by it. “BeeBee Ate,” he said. “He’s BeeBee Ate. Uh. Dameron.”

            “BeeBee...Ate?” the receptionist repeated. “Eight. Like the number.”

            “Yeah,” Poe said. “Yep, that’s it.”

            “All right then,” the receptionist said, with the air of someone who had long ago gotten used to recording nonsensical pet names. “BeeBee Ate Dameron. All set for two o’clock tomorrow.”

            Poe stood there in a daze for a moment after he hung up, trying to figure out how he’d gotten to this point in his life. Jess was going to give him so much shit about the name, he just knew it, but –

            “Hey, BeeBee,” Poe called. “That’s gonna be your name now, okay?”

            The puppy tilted his head so that his too-big ears flopped sideways, looking at Poe like he knew that already. Like he’d just been waiting for Poe to figure it out.

*

            “Brittany spaniel mix,” the vet pronounced after looking BB-8 over, inspecting his teeth and his ears and his eyes and his everything. Poe had winced in sympathy when the tech had given BB-8 his shots, held him tight afterward and murmured his apologies so fervently that the vet gave him a smile and a raised eyebrow.

            “That’s my best guess, anyway,” she said now. “Maybe some border collie in there somewhere. But mostly I think you’ve got yourself a good old-fashioned mutt.” 

            “Is he gonna get big?” Poe asked, looking down at his good old-fashioned mutt and trying and failing to wrap his head around the concept.

            “Bigg _er_ ,” the vet said, shrugging. “He’s too little to really tell yet. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

*

            Over the next months, BB-8 grew and grew and _grew_ and finally seemed to settle at about knee-height, which was kind of a relief because Poe was starting to worry he’d rescued some kind of giant mastiff thing and he wasn’t so sure his apartment was big enough for that.

            “I cannot believe you named your goddamn dog after a goddamn fighter jet,” Jess said, for the hundredth time, and Poe shrugged.

            “They’re _good_ fighters,” he answered, for the hundredth time, shifting on the bench beside her.

            He and Jess had started to replace their lunchdates with dog park dates, and Snap, Karé, and Iolo showed up whenever they could. They got some weird looks sometimes, the five of them all marching in loudly with one gangly, hyperactive mutt in tow. But right now it was just Poe and Jess, watching BB-8 zoom circles around the other dogs.

            “Look at him,” Poe added, grinning. “Check out that corner speed.”

            “Poe. He’s a _dog._ ”

            “He’s a good dog,” Poe said. “With a good name.”

            “And a crazy owner.”

            “Well, yeah. We all knew that.”

*

            Their nights had gotten better pretty quick once Poe had relented and let BB-8 sleep on the bed. All the WikiHow articles had warned against this, but they both slept pretty well like that, side by side, BB-8 snoring into Poe’s chest in a steady rhythm. Poe had nightmares still – he’d probably always have nightmares – but now he’d wake up gasping and find his dog licking at his face or pawing at his arm, insistent and impossible to ignore. It was grounding in a way he couldn’t quite believe.

            In the mornings the two of them found new routes to trace around the neighborhood, thanks to BB-8’s perfect pink nose, which led them unerringly to bakeries and parks and weird boutique pet stores that sold gourmet dog treats with icing (Poe always got BB-8 at _least_ one, always). In the evenings they jogged, rain or shine, and Poe let himself fall into the rhythm of pumping blood and beating heart like he hadn’t done in forever.

            He was pretty much a miracle, this fluffy orange-and-white mutt. He was a miracle of relentless barking and joyful leaping and bright-eyed tail-wagging. He was smart as hell and determined and brave and he fit into Poe’s life like he was supposed to be there all along, shifting things bit by bit into the proper order until Poe couldn’t remember how it was to live without him.

            And someone had tried to throw him _away_.

            Poe was still seized occasionally by anger about that, would have this sudden impulse to lift his too-big-to-be-lifted dog into his arms and just hold him there for as long as BB-8 allowed. “You’re so good,” he’d tell BB-8. “You’re really, really _good_ , you know that? Best dog in the city. No, best dog in the _world!_ You know that?”

            At which point BB-8 would _rooo_ impatiently at him – all like, _Yeah, of course I know_ – and wriggle his way to the ground so he could go back to his very important dog schedule.

*

            He got lost on a weekday morning, one of those lousy, fog-drenched fall days that always sent Poe’s mind whirring in the wrong direction, dredging up thoughts he didn’t want to think. It was Poe’s fault, of course it was Poe’s fault – he’d left the goddamn door open like an idiot, too distracted by his armload of groceries and his head all tangled up in knots, and when he turned around from putting the milk away, his dog was gone.

            His dog was _gone_.

            Poe stared at the dog-less space for a long and terrible and frozen moment, and then bolted down the hall. He spent hours combing the apartment building, knocking on doors, circling their usual walking routes and asking everyone he met, breathlessly, _have you seen my dog he’s orange and white he has an orange collar and he likes to jump on things?_

            He texted Jess after about twenty minutes of this, slumping up against the corner of a building he didn’t recognize with his hands trembling so badly that all he could tap out was _bb’s lost_.

            She called him a minute later.

            “What happened?” she demanded.

            “I don’t know,” said Poe. “I don’t _know_ , I’m an idiot, I left the door open, and he just –”

            “Okay, okay, it’s okay, we’ll find him,” Jess interrupted. “I’m coming. Where are you? I’m coming.”

            “I’m,” Poe started, then swept his gaze over the street, back and forth, suddenly disoriented. None of the shops here looked familiar, everything painted in the same shade of gray by the drifting fog and dark-edged clouds. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking for, had lost track after around the tenth _No, sorry, haven’t seen him_. “I’m by the... I’m...definitely somewhere.”

            “Poe,” Jess sighed. “Pull it together, man.”

            “Yeah,” Poe said, letting out an unsteady laugh. “Sorry. I’m –”

            He stopped, his breath catching. Because there – right _there_ , across the street – was a flash of orange and white through the fog.

            Poe launched himself to his feet. “IgottagoJessI’llcallyouback,” he said, and _ran_.

            Directly into traffic. Which, as it turned out? Not the best idea. A cab careened sideways, tires screeching, a cacophony of horns honked at him, but Poe just scrambled over the cab’s hood and darted his way through the rest, and he almost would’ve made it if not for the fucking minivan.

            Later he wouldn’t remember the specifics. Only that one second he was running and the next he was flat on his back on the asphalt and someone was roaring curses at him from the window of this hideous beige monstrosity. So Poe lifted a hand toward them in a hazy salute, staggered up to his feet again, and managed a weaving, slow jog toward the sidewalk.

            “Holy shit, man, are you okay?”

            This, from objectively the most beautiful man Poe had ever seen in his life, standing outside a bodega and staring at Poe in open-mouthed horror. This, from the man who was _holding Poe’s dog_.

            “That’s my dog!” Poe answered joyfully. His head hurt and his _spine_ hurt and that didn’t matter because BB-8 was safe and happy and wagging his tail in this kind and beautiful stranger’s arms and everything was okay now, it was gonna be okay.  

            “You just got hit by a car,” the stranger said, staring at him.

            “Yeah,” Poe said, walking over, distracted by BB-8’s happy yelps, the white forepaws stretching out toward him. He reached out to grab the paws, squeezing tight and grinning as BB licked his nose. “That’s my dog, man, thank you so much, he got out and I’ve been looking everywhere, I...” Poe paused on account of the fact that he was wobbling sideways, and the stranger reached out to catch him at the shoulder.

            “Your face is bleeding,” he said.

            “Is it?” Poe reached out to touch his own cheek, blinking at his red-stained fingertips. “Huh.”

            “You just got hit by a _car_ ,” the guy repeated, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

            “Yeah, well.” Poe waved a hand. “Listen, thanks again for finding BeeBee, I –”

            He was interrupted by his phone ringing, had to pause to fumble around for it in his pocket and then take a few extra seconds of fumbling to hit answer. “Hey, Pava, sorry.”

            “Dameron, what the hell?” Jess answered.

            “Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry. I just saw BeeBee so I –” Poe stopped, looked at the blood on his fingers again. “Oh, shit, I got hit by a car,” he said wonderingly.

            “Wait, _what?_ ”

            “Yeah,” he said again, then shook his head, snapping himself out of it. “I’m all right though. Just clipped me. Anyway, found BeeBee, so I’m gonna head home –”

            “Poe, what the _hell._ Do you even know where you are?”

            Poe scanned the street again. “Yep.”

            “Nope,” Jess answered. “I swear to god –”

            “What?” Poe said. “We’re all good. BeeBee Ate even made a new friend.” Said new friend wouldn’t stop looking at Poe with deep alarm, but what could you do.

            “Yeah? Put ’em on the line.”

            “Who?”

            “Your friend. BeeBee’s friend. Whoever looks like a responsible adult in the immediate vicinity.”

            Poe rolled his eyes, then looked up at the dog-saving stranger. “Are you a responsible adult?” he asked wryly.

            “Me?” the guy answered, looking even more alarmed, and Poe meant to explain the joke, or maybe just to explain that Jessika Pava was a secret worrywart to the extreme and could not be stopped, but the adrenaline was wearing off and leaving him dizzy and exhausted. So he just handed over the phone, reaching out to take a squirming BB-8 in return.

            “Hello?” said the stranger. “Yeah. Um. Hi. I’m Finn.”

            “Finn, huh?” Poe murmured to his dog. He fished the leash out of his pocket, clipping it on with a reassuringly secure click and letting BB-8 down to sniff in happy circles at his feet.

            “Uh-huh,” Finn told the phone. “No, he really did. Yeah. Minivan, I think?”

            Poe half-listened as he knelt down to ruffle BB-8’s ears, to ask him where he’d been and what he’d seen on his grand adventure. BB responded in tail-wags mostly, then flopped over onto his back for a bellyrub.

            “I don’t know,” Finn said, glancing down at Poe. “His face is bleeding and he seems a little... Where? Yeah. Sure. No problem. Okay.” He hung up and leaned down to pass the phone back to Poe. “So, uh, I’m gonna walk you home, if that’s cool?”

            Poe considered arguing with that for about half a second, because _really_ , Pava? Assigning him a chaperone like he was five? But the guy’s expression was so earnest, so kind, and it felt like a crime to say no.

            “Sure, if you want,” he said, straightening up. “Pava’s overprotective, it’ll make her feel better.”

            “Honestly, man, it’ll make _me_ feel better,” Finn said, eyeing Poe. “You sure you’re okay?”

            Poe tried for a winning grin. “I’ve had worse.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Seriously, man. I’m good. You’re doing me a favor, though, you have no idea how Pava gets.” Not that she hadn’t ever had reason to worry. But those reasons were mostly over now, and Poe sort of wished she’d catch up.

            “I think I have some idea,” Finn muttered. His gaze trailed over Poe critically. “You always run straight into traffic?”

            “Only on Tuesday mornings,” Poe said, and Finn made a face at him, then grinned reluctantly. The change in his expression – worry lines smoothed away, eyes brightened – was sort of breathtaking. In that it actually took Poe’s breath away for a second.

            “You’re on Yavin Ave? That’s down this way,” Finn said, thumbing over his shoulder, and Poe followed him agreeably enough, pausing now and then to bargain with BB-8 about their walking speed and whether or not they should stop at various food stands. He made small talk along the way – the usual stuff, like introductions and arguments as to whether or not Poe should go to an urgent care clinic.

            (“I _really_ think you should see a doctor,” Finn said, and Poe shrugged.

            “I feel okay. Little bruised up. My _elbows_ hurt the most, if you can believe it? Think I scraped ’em up. But it’s not bad.”

            “You could have, like, a concussion or something.”

            “Don’t think so. Doesn’t feel like one.”

            “You’ve had one _before?_ ”

            “What, you haven’t? Finn, buddy, live a little.”)

            By the time they’d reached the apartment building, Poe’s head had started to pound in rhythm with their footsteps, his whole body aching like he’d – well, like he’d been hit by a stupid minivan. Every now and then Finn gave him a concerned glance like he was going to start talking about concussions again, and Poe just smiled brightly back until he looked away.

            “Here we are,” he said, stopping in front of his building and turning toward Finn. “Thanks, buddy, you really saved my life.” He bit his lip. “I mean, BeeBee’s life. But same thing.” Was it weird to admit your dog was your entire life to a guy you’d just met? Probably.

            But Finn didn’t seem to mind. His eyebrows knit together and he gave Poe this soft look, like he was caught somewhere between amusement and confusion.

            “Yeah,” he said. “No problem. Just, don’t go running in front of any more cars, okay?”

            “That’s gonna really mess with my Tuesday routine,” Poe answered, shifting thoughtfully from foot to foot. “But for the hero of the hour? I’ll consider it.”

            Finn smiled at him, shaking his head a little. And for a moment they both just stood there, just _looking_ at each other, and Poe’s throat felt dry.

            “You could come inside,” he said suddenly. “I could make you coffee or something? As a thank you for the whole life-saving thing. Or like...I was gonna do pancakes earlier, before...” He waved his non-leash hand to indicate the general catastrophe of the morning.

            “I –” Finn hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as though worried somebody was watching them. “I could do that,” he said, carefully.

            Poe beamed.  

*

            “So BeeBee went out and found you a boyfriend,” Jess concluded, once Poe had relayed the morning’s events (and convinced her that no, he didn’t have a concussion, why did everybody keep asking that, and _yes_ , he’d washed the cuts on his face out with soap, honestly, did she think he was some kind of heathen).

            Poe stopped pacing back and forth in front of his couch to stare at her. “What? No! He just found – Finn.”

            Jess ignored him, leaning down to pat BB’s fluffy head. “Good boy, Bee! Your dad’s gonna get laid.”

            “Pava!” Poe scolded, dropping down to his knees to put his hands over his poor dog’s ears. “Don’t teach him things like that.”

            “Poe, _he is a dog_.”

            Poe flopped over onto the floor, letting BB-8 climb onto his stomach and lick at his face. “And anyway,” he said, gently pushing BB’s snout aside after a second, “that’s not what I – Finn is just nice. He’s like...extremely nice.”

            Jess raised her eyebrows, smirking. “I’m sure he is.”

            “No, I mean he’s _nice_. Like a _regular nice person_.” Poe shot her a look. “I know that’s not a familiar concept for you, but...”

            “He came up to your apartment and had pancakes with you after you got hit by a minivan.”

            “Exactly,” said Poe. “Nice guy.”

            “ _Weird_ guy,” Jess said, stretching one foot off the couch to prod Poe in the shin with her toe. “Like you.”

            Poe thought about it, frowning. “Maybe,” he relented. “I don’t know...He asked for my number. Said he’d call. See how I was.”

            Jess laughed. “Dameron, he _likes_ you.”

            “You don’t know –”

            “Just enjoy it, man. Why can’t you just enjoy this?”

            Poe shrugged, stroking BB’s ears. “I don’t know,” he said again, quieter.

            Jess sighed. Then she climbed off the couch and settled beside Poe on the floor, BB-8 rolling onto his back between them. “Enjoy it,” she repeated, reaching out to rub BB’s belly. “You deserve that. You know?”

            “Yeah,” said Poe. He stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah, maybe.”

*

            “Somebody threw him away,” Poe explained. “Like, literally. Into the dumpster. I had to drag him out.”

            “That’s disgusting,” Finn said, eyes wide. They were walking sort of aimlessly around the neighborhood, letting BB lead the way, just talking. It’d been three weeks since Poe’s traffic incident, or BB-8’s grand escape, or whatever you wanted to call it. (Poe preferred the latter.)

            Finn had called him the day after, asked in this endearingly cautious way if, since they’d already technically done breakfast, Poe wanted to do lunch – only, of course, if he was feeling up to that.

            Poe had, in an embarrassingly eager voice, replied that yes, in fact he _would_ like to do lunch, and only just barely managed to keep from adding that he would also like to do dinner and dessert.

            So far they’d met up for lunch four times, and each time Poe felt a little more swept away by Finn’s smile. There wasn’t gonna be any of him _left_ if things kept going like this; he was gonna lose his mind and his heart all in one go. Maybe his lungs, too, the way Finn kept smiling.

            He’d had the bright idea to invite Finn along for BB-8’s after-lunch walk this time, because – he didn’t want Finn to go. He didn’t want to say goodbye yet, couldn’t handle the idea of Finn walking away from him yet. It was so juvenile, so pathetic, but he couldn’t seem to turn it off, to switch to Mature Responsible Grown Up mode around Finn. If he’d even ever had that mode at all.

            “Yeah, I know,” Poe said now. “We both smelled like garbage for days.”

            “No, I meant –”

            “No, I know. It is.” He looked down at BB-8 snuffling at the sidewalk. “But hey, he’s good now. He’s here. Best dog in the world.”

            “Yeah, you mentioned that,” Finn said, and Poe grinned, ducking his head.

            “Well, it’s true.”

            “So what d’you do?” Finn asked, after a moment. “When you’re not rescuing dogs from dumpsters or getting hit by minivans.”

            Poe hummed, looking away, his heartbeat kicking up about three notches. Somehow the topic hadn’t come up yet. Or maybe he’d been trying not to bring it up. It wasn’t like he was embarrassed, it was just – people got all weird about it sometimes, and he wasn’t sure what he was gonna do if Finn tried to _thank him for his service_ or something.

            “Uh,” he said, which was a promising start. _Just get it out, Dameron._ “I was a Navy fighter pilot.”

            “Oh!” Finn said, and when Poe glanced up his eyes were wide again. “That’s really cool! I mean...is it okay to say that?”

            “Yeah, man,” Poe said, laughing half out of relief. “It was kinda cool. Well, the actual flying, anyway. Miss that.”

            “Why’d you leave?”

            Poe shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, BB’s leash wound tight around his right wrist. “Honorable discharge, couple years ago,” he answered lightly. “So yeah, I don’t really...I mean, I haven’t been doing a whole hell of a lot. Volunteering places. Odd jobs sometimes. I don’t know.” He paused to let BB-8 sniff a trash can and looked up, meeting Finn’s eyes. “Honestly? I can’t figure it out. What I want, I mean. Flying was pretty much it for me.”

            He hadn’t really meant to say that, not exactly that way at least. But Finn made him want to talk. A lot. About everything. Because he _listened_ to Poe, so careful and intent, taking in every word and really thinking about it. Which sometimes was seriously inadvisable, but still.

            Finn was doing that now, wearing that thoughtful, distant expression he got sometimes. “I get that,” he said at last, as they followed BB-8 onward in his quest to explore every bit of the sidewalk. “I mean, it’s understandable, right? It’s probably pretty normal.”

            “Probably,” Poe echoed, although that had never actually occurred to him before. He filed the idea away in his head so he could inspect it further later. “What about you?” he added, bumping Finn’s shoulder gently. “What d’you do when you’re not heroically rescuing dogs and escorting people home in a gentlemanly fashion?”

            Finn huffed out a laugh. “I _want_ to do engineering. Like environmental engineering.”

            “Man,” Poe said. “So, heroically rescuing the whole planet.”

            Finn smiled, giving a sheepish shrug. “Something like that. But right now I’m just taking night classes, working days at my friend’s garage.”

            “Hey, don’t say it like that,” said Poe, clapping Finn on the shoulder.  

            Finn gave him a funny look. “Like what?”

            “Like ‘just.’ It’s not ‘just.’ It’s awesome. You’re working for something, you know? Something real, something that’s gonna help people. Don’t downplay it.”

            Finn didn’t answer for a moment, like maybe he was just mulling that one over. “Yeah,” he said finally in this soft voice, tipping toward fragility. “No, you’re right.”

            “I’m always right,” Poe announced, scuffing his toe on the sidewalk as BB-8 paused yet again to press his nose to a promising blade of grass.

             Finn snorted. “Oh yeah?”

            “Absolutely,” Poe insisted. “Right, BeeBee?”

            BB-8 was far too busy to look up, but he wagged his tail at the mention of his name, which Poe pointed at in triumph, beaming. Finn shook his head, but he smiled back.

            And then he reached out and took Poe’s hand.

            “Is this okay?” he asked worriedly, after a few seconds had passed and Poe remained frozen, breathless. His thumb brushed over Poe’s knuckles, hesitant and gentle, and Poe’s brain stuttered its way back to functionality. (Christ, what was he, thirteen?)

            “Better than that,” he managed, flashing Finn a grin, and he felt Finn relax, squeeze his hand.

            “Good,” he said. “’Cause I don’t really wanna let go.”

            “No,” Poe agreed. “Don’t do that. Yeah. No.”

            “That wasn’t the plan,” Finn assured him, sounding close to laughter.

            “There’s a plan? For this?”

            “Mmhm.”

            “Huh.” Poe was quiet for a while, ambling slowly along behind BB-8, one hand tangled in the leash, Finn holding tight to the other. Securely anchored in a way he hadn’t been in – years, maybe. “What _is_ the plan?” he said at last, unable to stop himself.

            Now Finn did laugh, but it was soft, affectionate. “One step at a time, if that’s okay?”

            Poe tilted his head, considering that. One step at a time was not generally how he did things. His brain was used to weighing out maybe five steps at a time – or six, or seven, borrowed from three or four different plans, everything coalescing into a strategy that somehow kept on resulting in him still being alive by the end of it.

            That was good thinking for fighter jets, or at least for Poe it had been. It was, however, slightly less valuable for what Iolo referred to (with great disdain) as Real World Stuff.

            “Well,” Poe decided, “you’re the engineer, buddy.”

*

            “So when’re you bringing the boyfriend?” Snap asked, handing Poe a wooden spoon and pointing him toward the soup bubbling on the stovetop. “Stir that, will you?” he added.

            It was Sunday, which meant it was dinner at Snap and Karé’s, because marriage had made them into _total losers_ according to Jess and _middle-aged squares_ according to Iolo. Poe thought weekly dinners were nice, and said so, and Jess and Iolo both proclaimed him to be just as bad.     

            The thing was that Karé didn’t really cook, Jess refused to try on general principle, and Iolo insisted that anything he touched would automatically turn to poison and didn’t they know that this was why he lived on takeout. So Snap usually roped Poe into helping in the kitchen while the other three mostly just chased BB-8 around the yard.

             Poe didn’t mind, really. He liked cooking. He liked being in a house with a full kitchen, too, and not his own tiny cramped excuse for one. Plus, Snap was slightly less of an adrenaline junkie than the rest of them, less likely to turn a simple conversation into an escalating challenge of sarcasm, and sometimes that was a relief.

            “There is no boyfriend,” Poe said, dipping the spoon into the soup pot and stirring resolutely. “This needs more spices,” he added.

            Snap shot him an annoyed look. “You always say that. You haven’t even tasted it.”

            “Don’t need to taste it. It’s always true.”

            “Jess says there’s a boyfriend.”

            “Pava says a lot of stuff. You can’t trust Pava.”

            “Come _on_ , Poe.”

            “Seriously, lemme add more spices,” Poe answered, and Snap sighed and pressed a paprika shaker into Poe’s hand, which was a good start.

            “So there’s really no boyfriend,” he said, stepping into Poe’s space to check on the bread in the oven.

            Poe leaned back at the burst of hot air, inhaling the fresh-bread scent. “Not a single one.”

            Snap tapped on the bread experimentally, then closed the oven door and leaned back to study Poe. “But there’s a guy?”

            “Maybe. Yeah.”

            “And you like him?”

            “No, Snap, I hate his guts.”

            “All right, all right.” Snap held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m not tryin’ to pry, man, you just look...”

            “What?” Poe asked, ducking around him to get to the spice cabinet.

            “Happier. I dunno. Are you?”

            Poe paused mid-spice heist, glancing out the kitchen window to see an orange-and-white blur streak past in the backyard, Jess hot on its heels.

            “I think so,” he said, his hand closing around the chili powder. “Yeah.”

*

            They were all curled up together on Poe’s couch when Finn kissed him, BB-8 nestled in between the two of them and chewing contentedly at the hem of Poe’s hoodie. One second Poe was talking – rambling, more like, about something he couldn’t even remember later – and the next Finn’s palm was resting warm and light on Poe’s cheek, his thumb tracing Poe’s jawline, and the whole world narrowed to Finn’s intent stare.

            “What?” Poe asked, heart thumping hard, because truly he was a master of romance. (He really thought he _had_ been at some point, was the thing. Maybe ten years ago. Maybe a thousand years ago. Before Finn, anyway.)

            “Step two,” Finn answered with a half-shrug, and Poe had just enough time to let out a soft, “ _Oh_ ,” before their lips met.

 

            (“So what’s step three?” Poe asked later, lightheaded and grinning like a fool. “Or step four, or step five, or st—”

            At which point Finn did them both a favor and thoroughly shut him up.)

*

            “He’s good, right?” Poe asked BB-8 one evening after they’d walked Finn out. “Like, you like him?”

            BB-8 glanced at Poe, then returned to shredding the empty cereal box Poe had gifted him.

            “Yeah, that’s right, you are the one who found him,” Poe agreed, going over to collapse back across the couch, all loose-limbed and warm and content. “How could I forget? Man, you did good, buddy.”

            BB-8 wagged his tail at the word ‘good’, a soft _thump-thump-thump_ against the side of the couch.

            “But you can never do that to me again,” Poe added, pointing a stern finger down at him. “Like, ever. You hear me, Bee?”

            His perfect dog, his miracle dog – his beautiful, magnificent, cereal-box-shredding, Finn-finding dog – paused and studied Poe’s finger for a moment. Then he stretched his snout forward and chomped down gently.

            Which Poe figured was as good an answer as any.         

           

*

            “So are you guys dating or what?” Jess asked Finn, and Poe – Poe really should have expected that, but he still choked on his coffee, spluttering in what had to be a stunningly attractive fashion.

            They’d all met up for brunch at the buffet place down the road, because Poe had figured that if he was gonna introduce Finn to one of his weird friends then he might as well soften the experience with all-you-can-eat French toast. Plus there was outdoor seating, which meant BB-8 could hang out under the table and snack on scraps, which was one of his favorite activities in the whole world. It was win-win, except for the part where Jess was determined to ruin Poe’s life.

            “I mean, I was under that impression,” Finn answered, glancing at Poe’s affronted look and raising his eyebrows. There was a small smile on his face, amused and puzzled, like that look he’d given Poe the day they’d met and just about every day after. “Wait,” he said. “You weren’t?”

            “No,” Poe said, shifting in his seat, trying to ignore the heat creeping across his face. Christ, Jess was going to mock him for _years_ about this. Deservedly, but still. “I mean yes? Yeah. I was. Uh. Sort of.” He winced. _Smooth, Dameron. Try again._

            “Look,” Poe added, leaning toward Finn and lowering his voice. “I was – I didn’t want to assume anything, buddy, but I –”

             “We’ve been seeing each other almost every day for two months,” Finn pointed out, which, yes, was definitely an observable fact, so Poe nodded agreeably. “We also made out on your couch,” Finn added. “A bunch of times.”

            Poe ignored the _oooooohhh_ that this elicited from Jess, because of how she was terrible and trying to ruin his life. He searched Finn’s face instead, finding the warmth in his gaze and settling there.

            “Sorry,” Finn offered, softer, looking actually kind of concerned now at Poe’s expression. “I mean, I thought it was clear, but I don’t know, maybe I should’ve...”

            “No, no, it’s good,” Poe said, relaxing back into his seat, the tension easing from his shoulders. “It’s all good. So we’re dating. So I’m your boyfriend?”

            Finn gave him a funny look. “I mean, I told people you were?”

            “You did?” Poe grinned in delight, leaning forward again. “Who’d you –”

            “Oh my _god_ ,” Jess interrupted, groaning. “You’re both the worst. You’re the _worst_. No offense, Finn, you’re great and all, but you’re gross.”

            “ _Ha_ ,” Poe said triumphantly, bringing his hand down on the table just hard enough to send a scrap of egg rolling to the ground for BB-8. Finn gave him a mildly alarmed look.

            “She thinks you’re cute,” Poe explained. “She says that about cute stuff.”

            Jess wrinkled her nose. “I say that about gross stuff.”

             “You think Finn’s cute,” Poe insisted, brilliantly aware of Finn trying not to laugh beside him. “You think _my boyfriend_ is cute.” He settled back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You know what? I’m offended. I’ll fight you for his honor.”

            “I think you’re a _dumbass_ , Dameron,” Jess corrected, standing up abruptly. “And I’m going to get the rest of the waffles and I’m not gonna let you have a single bite.”

            Poe narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

            “ _Watch me_.”

            “Pava!” Poe protested, and leapt up from his seat. “She _knows_ I love their waffles,” he complained to Finn, already mid-sprint.

            “Diabolical,” Finn said, shaking his head.

            And so naturally Poe had to double back to kiss him on the cheek, and also to duck under the table and ruffle BB-8’s fur while he was at it (because BB was being _so good_ and _somebody_ had to acknowledge that, waffles be damned). Finn laughed, startled and happy, and BB-8 _roooo_ ’ed in delight, and Poe thought those were probably the best two sounds in the world.

*

            The call came about a week later, so early that Poe almost missed it. He was still asleep with his face pressed into BB-8’s soft fluff when his phone went off, ringing so obnoxiously loud that there was no possible way any normal person could ignore it.

            Poe, of course, was _not_ a normal person, and valued his sleep pretty highly these days, so it was a near thing. But something in his brain prodded him to reach out and grab the phone from the bedside table.

            “Yeah?” he mumbled at it, feeling a bit self-congratulatory for having managed to form an actual word.

            “Poe Dameron?” said the caller, and that voice, well, that voice was so ingrained in him that he sat bolt upright, BB-8 grunting and promptly rolling over into the warm spot Poe had vacated.

            “General Organa,” Poe said, dry-mouthed, and she laughed.

            “Not a general anymore,” she reminded him.

            _But you are to me_ , Poe thought stupidly, his chest tightening with an ache he rarely let himself feel these days. “Sorry, yeah,” he said. “How’re – how are things?”

            “Things are good,” Leia answered, still sounding faintly amused. “Well, good as they can be. How are _you_ , Poe?”

            Gentler than she’d ever spoken to him, except maybe after Muran, after the torture, after he’d broken down on her and he’d –

            “I’m okay,” Poe said, cutting those thoughts short. He leaned back against the headboard, stroking BB-8 absently. “I’m doing okay.” He was mildly surprised to realize that this was true.

            “I’m glad to hear that,” Leia said, and sounded like she really was. “Are you busy this afternoon?”

            Poe let his hand still over BB-8’s ribs, feeling the slow rise and fall of his dog’s sleepy breath. “No, ma’am,” he said.

            “Poe, come on,” Leia chided, and he could imagine her rolling her eyes.

            “No, _Leia_ ,” he corrected dutifully, then made a face. “I’m sorry, that just feels so weird.”

            “Well, get used to it, kid. You up for lunch?”

           “I’m always up for lunch, Gen...generally speaking.”

             “Good. There’s something I want to discuss.”

            “You got it,” Poe said, worry starting to thrum through him. “...A good thing?” he ventured.

            “Yes,” Leia said, a smile in her voice. “A good thing.”

            “Okay, good. Just had to check.” He paused, fighting the urge to fidget. Like it mattered, like he was in a briefing again and she could actually see him. “Can I bring my dog?” he asked, rushing the words out.

            Leia let out a sigh of a laugh. “Poe Dameron,” she said, weighing his name with such affection that he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “You can bring whoever the hell you want.”

*

            “Okay, Bee, this is really important,” Poe told his dog as they set out for the cafe Leia had chosen. It was some kind of all-natural organic type place, the sort that Poe usually avoided because of the expense but still gave long, lingering glances because of the menus and the bright do-gooder attitudes.

            BB-8 wasn’t really listening to him, too distracted by the various scents and sights of the world, but Poe kept on going anyway. “This is the _General_ , okay?” he said, ignoring the occasional weird looks he was getting from passersby. “ _General Organa._ Well, not General anymore, but whatever, the point is she’s _really important_ , so I need you to be on your _best_ BeeBee behavior, all right?”

            BB-8 paused to pick up an empty coffee cup from the ground, and marched forward carrying it proudly in his mouth.

            “There you go, buddy!” Poe said. “Recycling! That’s a good start.”

*

            Leia was already sitting outside when they got there, a mug in her hand and an iced coffee across the table. Topped with whipped cream and everything, exactly the way Poe liked it.

            “Dameron,” she said, standing up, and Poe felt that ache again as she drew him into a quick embrace. He sank down in the seat across from her, feeling a little wobbly.

            “You didn’t have to order for me,” he said, pulling the coffee toward him.

            “And yet I did it anyway. So who is this?” Leia said, leaning down to pet BB-8, who preened at her, tail wagging wildly.

            “He’s BeeBee Ate,” Poe answered sheepishly. “Which, for the record, Pava already mocks me for on a daily basis, so –”

            “No, it’s perfect,” Leia said, smiling. “I’d expect nothing less. You’re still in contact with Jessika Pava?”

            “Yeah,” said Poe, watching BB-8 sniff around the table for crumbs. “Yeah, the whole squad, actually, if you can believe it.” Well, what was left of it. But that wasn’t – he didn’t need to bring that up.

            “Oh, I can,” said Leia, something soft in her tone. “You were all so inseparable.”

            “We were,” Poe agreed, fiddling with his straw. “It’s been a long time,” he offered, after a second. He felt BB-8 flop on top of his feet and made a concerted effort to stay still.

            “I meant to check in on you sooner,” Leia said, studying him.

            Poe blinked, startled. “No, I didn’t mean...”

            “I didn’t know if you wanted the reminder, though,” she went on, ignoring the interruption. “I thought you might’ve wanted to...” She waved a hand. “Move on, something like that. Without retired Navy officers bothering you. That was my excuse, at least.”

            Poe looked down at the menus on the table. “I am,” he said quietly, after a moment. “Moving on. I think. But it would have been...” He lifted his head, offered her a hesitant smile. “I mean, it’s just good to see you.”

            Leia was watching him with a fond expression. “You too, kid,” she said, and then, as if it were the most casual question in the world, “How do you feel about flying again?”

            Poe opened his mouth, then closed it, just staring. Under the table he was pretty sure BB-8 was chewing through his shoelaces, based on the occasional sensation of pointy teeth grazing his foot, but he couldn’t seem to move.

            “I’m – I’m not cleared,” he said finally, even though he knew she knew that. There was no way she’d forget that.

            “Not fighters,” Leia replied, shaking her head. “Biplanes, mostly. My husband, Han, do you remember him?”

            Poe nodded. “Of course.”

            “He usually makes an impression,” Leia said wryly. “He’s opening a private flight academy outside the city, still needs a few good instructors. I know biplanes aren’t exactly fighter jets, but...”

            “I can fly anything,” Poe said automatically, eyes going wide.

            “So you’ve told me.” She took a sip from her mug. “Any interest in light aircraft?”

            “A lot of interest,” Poe answered quickly. “Every interest.” That...didn’t make sense, did it? He couldn’t help it, his head was spinning, he was going to _fly again,_ he’d thought he _never_ would. Or at least, he’d tried not to think about it all, because...

            “Good,” said Leia, interrupting his whirring thoughts. “I may have told Han you were the best pilot we’d ever had. So, no pressure.”

            And then she granted him one of those impossibly bright General Leia Organa smiles, one of those I-believe-in-you smiles, and Poe sat up straighter in his seat, resisting the urge to salute.

            “Won’t let you down, Gen—” Poe paused at the look on her face, biting his lip. “Gen...erally...speaking.”

            Damn. He was going to have to come up with something better than that one.

            Leia just surveyed him over the top of her mug, eyebrows raised. “There’s going to be a lot of that, isn’t there?”

            “Yes, m— yes.”

            She sighed, but she was smiling at him again. “I figured as much,” she said, reaching for a menu. “Come on, then, let’s get that lunch.”

*

            “Holy shit, Dameron!” was Jess’s main reaction, which Poe felt was more than fair. He’d texted her as soon as he could, and she’d been there waiting when he and BB-8 had gotten home, demanding all the details as soon as Poe walked in the door.

            She grabbed Poe loosely by the wrists now and spun him in a circle right there in the living room, knocking into the coffee table, BB-8 barking joyfully at their feet. “Look at you! _Flying_ again!”

            “Not _yet_ ,” Poe laughed, and she scoffed, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

            “Did you tell your boy?”

            “Finn?” Poe asked. “No, I mean, I just got back, I – do you think he’d want –”

            “ _Yes_. Call your boy,” Jess instructed. “I’m gonna call Karé – or maybe Iolo – who d’you think is gonna freak more?”

            “You kidding me?” Poe said, still catching his breath from – from the everything that’d just happened. “ _Snap._ ”

            “ _Snap_!” Jess echoed, pointing at him, and she strode off into the hall with her phone in hand, already dialing. “Hey, middle-aged loser, guess what!”

             Poe just stood there for a second, bringing one hand up to tug futilely at his mussed hair. He looked down at BB-8, still gamboling around the living room, and grinned. “You wanna fly, buddy?” he said, getting on all fours to properly address his dog. “Get you a little helmet and everything?”

            “Rooooo!” was BB-8’s opinion. Poe thought it was a pretty good one.

            “You make good points,” he said. “But I mean _of course_ it would have to be color-coordinated. What kind of tasteless monster do you take me for?”

            BB-8 flopped onto his back, and Poe rubbed his belly dutifully for a while, listening to the muffled sound of Jess wildly exaggerating from the hallway.

            “What do you think, BeeBee?” he asked quietly. “Do we call him or what?”

            _Thump-thump-thump_ , said BB-8’s tail.

            “Yeah,” said Poe, to his miracle dog, his perfect dog, his dog who wasn’t supposed to happen. “Yeah, I think so too.”

 

 

                                               

**Author's Note:**

> (Please note that this is an alternate universe in which there are Generals in the Navy because I done messed up there but it's fine because this is like pseudo USA anyway where everything is just slightly different and there are cities called Jakku.)


End file.
